


I forgot to press B.

by ArrogantConqueror



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Foot Fetish, M/M, and thigh highs, kind of?, there's a footjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArrogantConqueror/pseuds/ArrogantConqueror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulfilling my own prompt: Bro x (John + thigh highs) = sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I forgot to press B.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HandbagMurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandbagMurder/gifts).



> i posted an underage!john/bro prompt on tumblr and [my lovely friend filled it](http://bitchtearsandbuttsecks.tumblr.com/post/39832738409/shotas-more-k-so-just-so-yall-know-this-is). and i loved it so much that i changed what i was writing a smidge to fill my own prompt and kind of made it a sequel to hers?
> 
> so here i go
> 
> john is 17, bro is 29 because of reasons

John Egbert has no concept of subtlety. This is something that you learned very early on in your relationship, back when he was more your kid brother's best friend than he was your downfall (he calls you his boyfriend, and though you'd never say it aloud, you think that's kind of sweet; and you most certainly don't think of him in similar terms when you are alone). But he had learned for you -- at least, at first. As time passed and he began to notice just how tightly around his little finger you had allowed yourself to be wrapped, the pretences began to drop, and you were left with John bat-my-eyelashes-and-get-my-way Egbert. And as you watched him grow up, watched him fight to fit into his body like a god damn Labrador, watched him never quite catch up to his legs, you came to understand that that might be his most endearing quality.

If John wanted something, he would go right for the jugular. He didn't even try to pretend to have grace about it anymore, like he did when he was younger, when he would tease and seduce with all of the innocence of a siren.

When you could still make excuses.

But five years is a long time to be pointing fingers and ducking responsibility. It almost kills you to think of just how glorious those five years were.

Five years feels even longer when you're guilty.

As you sit on your futon and run your fingers reverently down a child's sky-blue thighs and mouth at John's hard dick under the matching underwear, you almost can't bring yourself to care.

He grips at your shoulder with his left hand, the right pinching and tugging at his rosy little nipple. You brush your nose along the length of his cock and hesitate to suck at the head, tongue darting at the small wet spot already there. Your hands inch up to cup his ass -- his perky, tight ass that you know better than the back of your own hand -- but he gasps and wrenches himself away, twisting out of your grasp.

Your heart stops for a second; you very nearly sigh with relief when he settles himself on the coffee table in front of you, one endless leg crossed over the other and jiggling his airborne foot. Once John's sure he's caught your attention with it, he smirks and eases them apart, knees splayed wide to adjust himself. You aren't even aware that you've started to reach for him until he gives your forearm a playful kick and then rests his feet on your shoulders.

Okay. He's got a plan. You can work with a plan. You grant him a quick smile and get a little more comfortable, rolling your shoulders. His feet slide down. 

John leans back, arms splayed behind him in support. One foot, dainty in its nylon costume, presses against the left half of your chest. It slides up a few inches before gliding down, pausing to dig his big toe into your nipple before continuing down your ribcage, over across your abs, and finally stopping at your navel. You smirk. He grins. His other foot follows a similar path but veers off course to settle on top of your thigh.

He circles his toes around your navel, catching the fabric of your shirt between them every so often and tugging. You understand his message quite clearly: however, you aren't feeling too particularly accommodating right now. You lean further into the futon, fingers lacing behind your head and you tug your hat back a little to eye him. John pouts like a fucking two-year-old and huffs, pursing his lips in determination. You mentally wish him all the luck in the world.

He bears down a little and wiggles his toes until he gets a nice bunch of cotton gathered up. And he pulls. It wasn't much, but enough of your shirt comes untucked that he can inch one foot up against your skin. Your muscles twitch under the cool nylon. You figure he's earned something of a reward, and so you allow yourself to grunt a soft sound of surprise and pride. John grins and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You take yours off, set them on the cushion beside you.

You try to lean forward to grab him, drag him in your lap, but he holds you back with both feet firmly against your solar plexus. You raise an eyebrow; he keeps on with that deceptive choir-boy smile. "Get it out," he says.

You blink. His heel digs into your belt buckle.

Oh.

Oh, okay.

You push his foot aside to unbuckle your belt and pull the zipper of your pants down. John takes over again, toeing apart the button. You wonder when his feet became as talented as his piano fingers.

He coos in his throat, regarding your erection like a cherished toy. You knock your hat off and your fingers dig into your hair somewhere between when he curls the toes of one foot _just so_ and you feel the scrape of his toenails through your pubic hair; and when his other foot darts between your legs to press up against your perineum.

That fucking tease.

You catch a devious little glint in his eyes, the kind he gets when he's pranking or feeling particularly rambunctious and for an irrational second, you think he honestly might not be able to differentiate between his libido and his gambit. But then he pulls himself together and captures your dick between his feet, and you forget everything that you should have been thinking about. You are absolutely consumed by John and that's just how he wants it.

Just like you did when they were small and clumsy, you cup your hands around his feet and guide them. Hold them steady. Feel the tension in his legs leave when you set a rhythm that your hips could work to as you rock into the silken fabric, made slick by your pre-ejaculate. You squeeze at the dorsum of his feet until he understands and relaxes the muscles there, too. You use this slack to your advantage and direct the tightness of his grip.

"You know, I tried to find a striped pair." John's tone is far too conversational, too light. You glance up at him. He pulls one foot out of your hold to nudge at your balls, to roll the instep against them from back to front. Then it's back with its mate; his toes spread wide and around the head of your dick. They close, his big toe pressing into the slit. You think you might have choked.

"All they had was solid blue," he whispers and resumes the pace you'd set. His words are dry. Terse. Like a secret. You bow your head and try to reconcile the blue of his knees with the blue of his eyes in a way that didn't niggle at your gut.

Your hands leave his feet to crawl up his legs, settling in the spot behind his knees that makes him laugh when you kiss there. Now free, one foot curls sinuously around the shaft and wedges it against your stomach, stroking its cornered prize slightly faster; the other catches your foreskin and his toes squeeze. John knows just how to kill you and you have no doubts about how badly you deserve it. You tense and your hands edge down to grab at his calves. Seconds later, one darts out and shoves his foot harder against your dick, your hips breaking cadence to thrust erratically a few more times, and then you come undone.

Your semen splatters on your shirt and the stockings. He pulls the foot at the head of your dick away, holding it aloft to inspect your come. His toes wiggle and he smiles, wide and bright.

"You'll make me another pair, won't you?"


End file.
